


Chlorine Kissed

by orphan_account



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: A bit of angst i guess, Alternate Universe - High School, Fluff, M/M, Underage Drinking, even though they're not actually in school, fuckboy!patrick, nerdy!Pete, patrick is a lifeguard, this sucks lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-08-09 11:37:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7800346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s slept with half of the student body, or at least that’s what the rumors say. Pete definitely wouldn’t be surprised. He’s fucking gorgeous, and funny and cool and the kind of person you’d hate yourself for falling in love with.</p>
<p>Guys like him are definitely not Pete’s type, but holy shit, he has to be the most attractive person on the planet. If Pete thinks he was hot before- Patrick is almost achingly beautiful with his hair pushed back and the sun on his pale shoulders, wearing nothing but sunglasses and a pair of bright red swim trunks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chlorine Kissed

**Author's Note:**

> Just a cliche little thing I wrote, I hope it's not too terrible. 
> 
> I apologize for the random pov shift- this was originally a chaptered fic on wattpad, I was going to change it but I wanted to have this posted before I went back to school.

It’s so hot Pete wants to cry, but his tears would evaporate into sizzling mist the second they fell. Even with his face strategically positioned underneath the ceiling fan, the temperature is unbearable. 

He’s stretched across the couch with a can of ice cold Coke, music blaring through his headphones, and it’s actually not too agonizing. Definitely not the worst way to spend his summer. He could be- Pete suppresses a shudder- outside. 

Rather than get a summer job like most kids his age, Pete’s parents are paying him to watch his younger brother Tyler while they’re at work. He doesn’t mind too much. It certainly beats working at McDonald’s like some of his friends. 

His contentedness is momentarily interrupted when Tyler bounds over, sweat plastering his brown hair to his forehead. “Peteee,” he laments, sweat plastering his brown hair to his forehead. “Pete, I’m hot.”

He scowls and yanks out his headphones. “Me too, kid. Suck it up.”

But Tyler is ten and ten year olds cannot be dissuaded this easily- especially restless, overheated ones. He adopts his customary pout. “Pete, I want to go the pool,” he says. 

He pauses. It’s actually not a terrible idea. 

Except, you know, for the fact that it’s the hottest day of the summer and the entire neighborhood will be at the public pool. 

Pete’s eyes slip shut again as he waves a dismissive hand in Tyler’s direction. “It’ll be too crowded. And I’m too lazy.”

Through his eyelids, he can almost visualize his brother planting both hands stubbornly on his hips. “But I want to go,” he protests. “I’ll tell Mom you won’t take me.”

Pete groans, because he does not doubt Tyler’s ability to call their mom and whine to her, and he does not doubt his mother’s ability to take away his phone. 

Releasing what seems like the twentieth groan of the day- and the loudest yet- Pete sits up, his cramped joints aching. He yanks out his headphones. 

“Alright, Ty,” he grumbles. “Go get dressed, and be quick. I’ll text Mom and tell her we’re going.”

“Thanks!” the boy dashes off with a wild grin. 

Pete staggers upstairs to his room. He pushes back his hair- the black fringe across his forehead probably isn’t much help against the heat. He moves slowly, as if weights are attached to his limbs, and tugs on a pair of swim trunks. 

Back downstairs, he sees that Tyler is already dressed. Pete remembers to slather himself with sunscreen. He grabs on of his mom’s giant beach bags and throws in his phone, headphones, some drinks, towels, and extra sunscreen. 

“Ready?” Pete asks. The siblings brace themselves against the heat and stumble out to Pete’s car. 

-

He’s correct, of course. The neighborhood pool is packed to the brim, and he can barely see the water through the mass of shifting bodies. 

Pete sighs, dreading the crowd. He was planning on finding a chair to relax and listen to music in but he doubts there are any open spaces. 

“Are you sure about this?” he asks Tyler apprehensively. 

His brother juts out his chin with determination. “Course I am.”

Pete hauls the massive bag over his shoulder, feeling like an obnoxious mom. Since Tyler cannot be swayed, he follows the kid as he stomps toward the gate. 

His chest seems to constrict when they approach the pool. Pete’s never been a fan of crowds. When they reach the entrance, he realizes it’s not as bad as he previously thought. Still crowded, but potentially tolerable. He spends an embarrassing amount of time messing with the lock and trying to wrench it open before they stride in. 

“I’m gonna go swim,” Tyler declares the second they’re past the gate. With that, he bolts off through the crowd to the deep end. Pete trudges to find an empty chair. 

He weaves through a mass of shrieking kids assaulting each other with water guns, scoping out an unoccupied spot. Pete blessedly finds a suitable chair and dumps the bag down. Sighing contentedly, he leans back, plugging in his headphones. 

This isn’t so bad, Pete thinks as he fishes a can of soda out of the bag and pops the tab. The sun is still beating down on his exposed skin and he’s sweating like crazy already, but at least it’s a change of scenery. 

He wouldn’t mind spending his whole afternoon like this, with his music and his drink and nothing else on his mind. It’s kind of relaxing, really. 

That’s when his plans go to shit. 

“Excuse me, sir,” a sharp voice says, barely audible above the crashing instruments in his ears. “I was just sitting here.”

Pete sits up, mostly alarmed at the fact that someone would refer to a short seventeen-year-old as “sir”. He pulls his headphones out and the buzz of the people invades his senses. 

A large middle-aged woman is standing in front of him with a pinched, aggravated expression, massive sunglasses perched atop her head. She’s clutching the hand of a boy maybe a couple years younger than Tyler. 

“I’m sorry, what?” he blinks, in disbelief that this woman has the balls to ruin his peaceful afternoon. 

“I said, I was just sitting there. See, those are my shoes.” She jerks her chin towards the pavement, where the ugliest pair of purple flip flops Pete has ever seen are shoved underneath the chair. 

He’s really not in the mood to argue. Pete sighs and gathers up his stuff, fighting the urge to mutter something obscene as he marches away. He internally curses white suburban moms for always ruining everything. 

Pete’s trying to scan the deck for another available chair, but it’s so crowded and people are splashing and yelling and dashing across the deck and hey, isn’t there supposed to be a lifeguard to stop people from running?

He’s about to forget the bag and go join Tyler in the pool, and that’s when something catches his eye. Someone, actually. And suddenly he’s grateful for the bitchy lady demanding her seat back, because if she hadn’t, Pete would never have never noticed the boy sitting on the lifeguard tower. 

The bag nearly slips out of his fingers. He recognizes the boy instantly, even with a pair of dark-framed sunglasses over his eyes. He’s leaning forward in the chair with his chin propped up with his hand, that weirdly shaped floaty thing balanced in his lap. He has blondish hair and perfect plush lips; his stomach and thighs are a little chubby like he never grew out of that baby fat phase, and he is perfect, so perfect. 

It only takes a few seconds for Pete to match that stunning face with a name. 

Patrick Stump. 

Arguably the cutest boy at school, though everyone would agree that he’s the most infamous. He is, in simple terms, a fuckboy. Even a loser like Pete has heard the legends about Patrick Stump.

He’s slept with half of the student body, or at least that’s what the rumors say. Pete definitely wouldn’t be surprised. He’s fucking gorgeous, and funny and cool and the kind of person you’d hate yourself for falling in love with. 

Guys like him are definitely not Pete’s type, but holy shit, he has to be the most attractive person on the planet. If Pete thinks he was hot before- Patrick is almost achingly beautiful with his hair pushed back and the sun on his pale shoulders, wearing nothing but sunglasses and a pair of bright red swim trunks. 

Pete’s heart flutters. He probably shouldn’t be staring, but he doubts Patrick can see him through the crowd anyways. The guy looks bored out of his skull. 

He has to talk to him. 

He wonders if Patrick would recognize him. They had AP US history together last year, nothing sophomore year, and a few classes when they were freshman. Enough time for Pete take note of his infamy and striking looks, but maybe not enough for Patrick to notice that he exists. 

Now’s the perfect time to strike up a conversation, right? Unless, you know, there’s some rule against talking to lifeguards while they’re working. As long as no one drowns, they should be alright. 

Maybe this is the dumbest idea he’s ever had, talking to the most popular boy in school. But it beats swimming squashed together with fifty other people, he guesses. And it’s summer. What’s the harm in a couple stupid decisions? 

He’s not a nervous wreck when it comes to guys (or girls) but he’s not super confident, either. The fact that it’s Patrick Stump makes it a thousand times more difficult. But  
Patrick’s cute as hell, and this might be his only chance with him. So he decides to go for it. 

If no one else, fate is on his side, because at that moment Patrick Stump blows the whistle around his neck. And Pete’s mind definitely does not go anywhere dirty while watching his soft lips around the metal. 

“Adult swim!” Patrick yells. The whistle falls back against his pale chest. 

A few disappointed groans ripple through the pool as kids clamber out. Pete spots Tyler among them and waves him over to where he stands, hovering semi-awkwardly by a row of deck chairs. 

“Hey, kid. Sorry I couldn’t find us a chair,” Pete says. Tyler shrugs, indifferent. 

Pete’s eyes are still fixated on Patrick, who is now climbing down the short ladder. Towards him. Right now might be his only chance. 

“Be right back,” he blurts to Tyler before he can talk himself out of it. 

Pete takes a deep breath, shuffling in Patrick’s direction and hoping he doesn’t look too dorky in his blue Hawaiian print swim shorts. 

It’s like a scene from a movie, the gorgeous boy striding obliviously towards him with the sun over his head. Especially when Patrick whips off his sunglasses, revealing crystalline blue eyes that sweep obliviously right over Pete’s frame. 

Pete clears his throat. He intercepts the lifeguard on the way to the building that houses all the pool equipment, trying not to slip as he steps in front of him. 

“Hey,” Pete stammers before he has a chance to formulate a mental plan. He blushes hotter than the blazing sun. Well, there’s no going back now. 

Patrick’s lips turn down in a thoughtful little frown, and Pete feels his knees weaken like they’ve transformed into those foam pool noodles. “Need something?” he asks. 

He really should have thought this through. Pete anxiously twists his finger around the strings of his shorts, conscience flying out the window at the sight of the boy and his intimidatingly flawless face. 

“What time is it?” it’s the first coherent thing to come out of his mess of a mind, as idiotic as it sounds. 

Patrick tips his head to the side thoughtfully. Those big blue eyes fix on a spot behind Pete, and he says, “Two forty-six.”

Pete turns. Sure enough, there’s a huge clock on the building behind him, in plain sight. Shit, he seethes internally, but doesn’t let this sway him. 

Luckily, Patrick swoops in, saving him from the awkward silence. “Hey, I think I know you,” he says. “Are you that guy from Brendon’s party last week? The really loud one?”

Pete stares, confused, until he realizes what Patrick means. A more intense blush burns across his skin. “Definitely not,” he hisses. “We never- um. But we had US history together, Mr. Flowers’ third period?”

Recognition gradually crosses his face. “Oh, yeah,” Patrick says, not sounding totally convinced. 

“We sat across from each other,” Pete supplies to further help his memory. “But we never talked. You would always be talking with Brendon and your squad of fuckboys.”

If Patrick’s offended by being called a fuckboy, he doesn’t show it. “Yeah, I know you. You’re the guy I used to copy off of. Pete Wentz, right?”

“Right,” he confirms. He knows Patrick used to copy off his papers, and couldn’t care less. At least he was noticing him. 

Patrick's lips curl upward in a smirk. Pete kind of wants to fall face first into the pool until water fills his lungs, because surely drowning would be less painful than that damn smirk. 

Then, without a goodbye, Patrick’s breezing off. Leaving Pete standing beside the pool, dumbstruck, because he cannot believe he just had an actual conversation with Patrick Stump. And didn’t seem to fuck it up too bad. 

Pete collects his thoughts and finds Tyler, who has blessedly found an open chair. His brother frowns. “What was that about?”

Pete pauses, unsure of how to explain his spontaneous mission to win Patrick’s heart. Instead he asks, “Tyler? What do you say about coming back here tomorrow?”

-

That’s the thing about Pete Wentz. If he wants something, he will go to any length to get it. It could be a vice or a virtue depending on how you look at it. 

But when it comes to potential partners- whether it’s a guy or a girl or whatever- it becomes Pete’s fatal flaw. 

And he’s like, ninety-nine percent sure that he’s in love with Patrick Stump. So love might be an exaggeration, but he’s undeniably infatuated- with looks like that, who wouldn’t be?

Pete has decided he is going to get Patrick to fall in love with him. Call it an operation of sorts. Though it’s next to impossible, considering Patrick’s reputation, but Pete’s not about to let that stop him. 

Tyler doesn’t understand why his typically introverted older brother wants to return to the pool, but he doesn’t complain. At least the next day, the pool is considerably less crowded. And it’s not near as hot. 

Today they have no trouble finding a pair of deck chairs to settle down in. Tyler asks Pete if he wants to go swimming with him, and the older boy respectfully declines. He has a lifeguard to fall in love with. 

And luckily for him, he finds Patrick as soon as the two of them stumble through the gate. Pete made sure to come the same time as yesterday so he knows the boy is working, and there he is, looking painfully bored as he watches over the horde of swimmers. 

Pete adjusts the chair to recline as far as it goes, slipping on a pair of sunglasses. Partly for the scorching sun, and partly so that Patrick won’t notice him staring.  
He feels like a horrible person, but he’s not staring, per se. Pete just happens to glance over and see the gorgeous boy sitting up on that tower. And his eyes linger a bit too long on his lips and chest and thighs because as creepy as it sounds, he could stare at him for hours. 

He’s the polar opposite of Pete, who’s all lean and bony and tan. Patrick’s blindingly pale despite spending hours in the sun. 

If he really wants Patrick to fall in love with him, he has to talk to him again. That seems like a relatively easy second step. 

Maybe he’ll play the small talk card, asks him about this job, his summer so far. He figures it’s way too early for cheesy pick up lines, and definitely not the time to ask him out, as much as he wants to. 

But Pete’s actually not terrible at this when he puts his mind to it, and he figures it’ll be okay if he just wings it. 

He waits until the next adult swim, when the pool is almost empty. Patrick is still at his post, looking nonchalant as ever. 

Pete stands. He’s deliberately wearing the least childish pair of swim trunks he owns, solid black with a single white stripe down the side. His naturally dark skin is now tanned from the sun and he thinks he looks pretty good. 

At that moment Patrick catches his eye, mouth twisting into his trademark smirk. Pete offers a casual wave and commands himself to keep his cool. He approaches the lifeguard stand in order to strike up a conversation. 

Patrick’s still watching him when Pete treads over a particularly wet part of the deck- a large puddle he’s failed to notice. His legs slip out from under him and all he can think is oh fuck before he crashes gracelessly to the ground. 

His limbs splay out, scraping brutally against the concrete. Pete winces. Pain spikes through him, and he can almost hear Patrick laughing his ass off. 

But the lifeguard doesn’t laugh. Pete scrambles clumsily to his feet, face scorching with humiliation as Patrick dashes down the ladder. 

“Oh my god, are you okay?” he says almost frantically, pressing a hand over his mouth. Pete shifts on unsteady legs and manages to nod. 

The embarrassment is worse than the physical pain- but not by much. A massive scrape runs up Pete’s left arm and a twin injury adorns his leg, blood already beading to the surface. 

“Alright, let’s get you a band aid,” Patrick declares. 

Pete is powerless to do anything but trail lamely behind him. The shorter boy marches towards the little building, and Pete can’t help but stare at the shorts hanging low on his swinging hips. 

The building houses the bathrooms, pool equipment, and a room Pete can’t tell the purpose of. Patrick produces a key attached to the same lanyard as the whistle, and unlocks a door. 

It appears to be a storage room of some sort. Bright light bleeds in from a high window, illuminating concrete walls and containers of who knows what. Pete lingers behind as Patrick steps inside, opening a drawer. He pulls out a box of band aids. 

“Here you go,” he says with a little smile, holding one out. Pete thanks him and takes it. 

He peels off the paper, holding up his arm and pressing the bandage onto his scrape. It doesn’t even cover half, like trying to dry off your body with a dish towel. Patrick laughs and passes him three more. 

“That’s better, I guess,” he mutters, leaving the doorway to join the other boy inside. “I’m sorry.”

Patrick frowns. “Don’t be sorry. Dude, I’ve had this job for three weeks and I’ve seen more people fall than you can count.”

Pete allows himself to laugh at this. He glances awkwardly around the cramped building, trying his best not to gape at Patrick or say something stupid. 

Silence settles over them, a silence he’s aching to break. Pete wants to ask him out, before he realizes that’s a terrible idea and the pain from his scrapes is probably messing with his ability to think. 

So instead he asks, “How often do you work here? And how long?”

Patrick runs a hand through his hair. It’s a darkish blonde and just the slightest bit damp with sweat. “Mondays, Tuesdays, and Wednesdays, two to nine,” he says with a grimace. “I have to close up the pool by myself, which kind of sucks. And I hate working here for so long. It’s so hot.”

“You’re hot.” The second the words leave his lips, Pete wants nothing more than to snatch them out of the air and stuff them back into his mouth. Shit, he’s such an idiot, he can’t keep his fucking mouth shut and Patrick probably hates him now. 

But Patrick just laughs. “Thank you? You’re not so bad yourself, Wentz. But you’re gonna have to try a little harder than that.”

Pete rocks back on his heels, mortified. His face burns with a deep red blush. Luckily, Patrick swoops in and rescues him once again. 

“Hey,” the lifeguard says. “You didn’t go to Brendon’s end of year party, did you? He’s having another one next week. Everyone from school will be there. You planning on going?”

He pauses, dust from the room beginning to settle on his skin. Pete doesn’t hate parties; he can definitely have fun, especially when his friends are there. But one thrown by Brendon Urie- who’s almost as infamous as Patrick- doesn’t sound like his thing. 

He knows how Patrick works; he’ll drag him off to some unoccupied bedroom and Pete will let him do whatever he wants with him. And he’ll enjoy it a little too much, but he’ll hate himself in the morning. 

But he’s going to be a senior in the fall, he reminds himself. This might be his last chance to have a crazy high school summer like in the movies. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll go,” Pete says with a decisive nod. 

“Didn’t someone ask you already? I thought everyone knew about it,” Patrick sounds a bit perplexed, leaning a single shoulder against the concrete wall. 

Color blooms in his cheeks and it’s only partly because of the heat- this room isn’t air conditioned, and it’s stifling. So Patrick wasn’t actually inviting him. Of course. 

“No, I don’t really- no one really invites me to that kind of stuff,” Pete stammers. “I get it, though, it’s totally okay.”

He frowns. Pete’s just noticed that his arms have been crossed tight over his stomach during their whole conversation. “Dude, don’t say that. It’s no big deal. You can come if you want, I’m sure Bren won’t mind. The more the merrier, right?”

Pete exhales with relief. “Yeah, okay. Sure. I’ll go.”

Patrick asking him doesn’t mean anything, right? This is only the second time they’ve spoken, for god’s sake. And besides, he said everyone at their school is coming. Like the guy said, it’s not a big deal. 

The corner of Patrick’s mouth lifts in a dazzling half-smile. Pete swallows hard, suppressing that “fuck, I’m in love” feeling that crawls fast and unwelcome up his throat.  
“Cool,” Patrick says. “It’s not this Friday, but the next one. I’ll text you, I guess, but I forgot my phone earlier, sorry.”

Pete shrugs. “I guess I’ll just come back the next time you’re working?”

“Sounds good.” He gives another smile that wrenches Pete’s heart in the best way possible. “But it won’t be until Monday, it that’s okay.”

“If I can survive that long.” Pete is amazed that he manages to keep his tone casual, teasing. But in reality he’s not sure if he can wait five days.

Patrick laughs. It’s deep and bubbling and his eyes light up and Pete wants to jump off the highest diving board in the world, onto solid concrete. 

“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” the boy says dryly. He glances out the open door with a frown, peering at the nearly empty pool. “Hey, adult swim’s almost over. I should probably get back to work.”

Right. Work. His heart sinks like a stone to the bottom of a pool. 

Wordlessly, Pete and Patrick walk side by side out of the little building. Patrick turns to face him when they’re halfway to the lifeguard tower, eyes wide and idle chatter buzzing in the background. 

“You can, um, come talk to me during breaks and stuff,” he says almost shyly, arms still crossed and shoulders hunched forward like he doesn’t want Pete looking at him. “This job is fucking boring.”

His heart lifts once again. “Yeah, great,” says Pete, trying not to sound too eager or love-struck. “But really, I should probably get home pretty soon.”

“Oh, okay.” Patrick nods. “See you later, I guess.”

He strides away, and Pete sighs. He collapses onto the deck chair besides Tyler, who wears the petulant expression of a kid sitting through adult swim. 

“What happened?” his brother asks. “I saw you fall, and I was gonna ask if you were okay but then you and that lifeguard disappeared for like five minutes.”

Pete chokes back a dry laugh. “Oh, everything’s fine.”

Luckily when he came out in eighth grade, Tyler was quick to grasp the fact that his older brother has crushes on both boys and girls. “Hm,” he says slowly, with a frown of concentration. “Do you like him?”

Pete watches as Patrick climbs up the lifeguard tower thirty feet away, trying not to stare at his ass- and failing. “Yeah,” he concludes. “Yeah, I think I do.”

“Have you asked him on a date yet? You should. You would be cute together,” Tyler says matter-of-factly, as if a ten-year-old in Spongebob swim trunks is suddenly an expert in relationships. 

Pete pushes his hair out of his eyes and grins. From his perch Patrick waves at him, raising the whistle to those perfect lips. His heart flutters. 

“No, not yet. But you’re right. I should.”

-

The next day is Thursday. Until his piano lesson at five, Pete has nothing to do but sit around and make sure Tyler doesn’t get into too much trouble. 

And, of course, replay his minimal conversations with Patrick through his head. Pete’s fairly certain he never said anything too embarrassing- besides the “you’re hot” remark, though Patrick seemed to brush it off. He’s probably used to it. 

At around noon, he decides to take Tyler to lunch for a lack of anything better to do. Pete vetoes his brother’s favorite place, mostly because he knows from experience that one of Patrick’s friends works there. What if their group hangs out at the restaurant? It’s simply not worth the risk. 

So they end up wedged in a hard plastic booth in a fast food place, the kind where your quote unquote “food” comes out in less than three minutes and the floors are riddled with an array of unidentifiable puddles. 

Pete has an order when it comes to this kind of thing- first all of his fries, and then his burger. The kind of Pete Wentz order that Cannot Be Disrupted. He’s a third of the way through his fries when Tyler says, “You really like this guy, don’t you?”

He blinks. He wasn’t exactly expecting that. “Yeah, I think so,” he says slowly. 

Though, Pete wants to point out, he barely knows Patrick. He doesn’t think they ever acknowledged each other during the school year. It’s one of those unspoken rules- Patrick had way more friends than him. So Pete would have never tried, even if he wanted to. 

So, yes. Now that he has the slightest of chances with him, Pete has no problem admitting it. He likes Patrick. 

He wraps his hand around the Styrofoam cup, an unwelcome sort of thrill leaping in his chest. He likes Patrick. And maybe, just maybe, Patrick likes him back. 

Though they’ve really only had two conversations- or one and a half. At this point Patrick probably sees him as just another awkward kid with a crush on him. Pete won’t let himself get his hopes up. 

The restaurant Pete and Tyler are eating in is a fairly popular establishment, usually filled to the brim during the lunch and dinner rushes. It’s also a common place for teenagers to hang out. 

However, out of all the people who could possibly breeze in through the grime-smudged door, there is an approximately zero-point-five chance that it could be Patrick Stump.  
But fate just loves to fuck with Pete. And he’s fairly certain it’s fate that makes Patrick show up in the shitty little restaurant. 

Pete’s back is to the door, facing Tyler, so at first he has no idea that the lifeguard is present. And then he notices his brother’s brows pull together in thought as he picks up a fry. 

“What’s wrong, Ty?” Pete asks. 

The younger boy grins. “Don’t look now, but your boyfriend just walked in. But I’m not totally sure if it’s him or not.”

His heart hammers. Pete decides not to correct Tyler’s labeling of Patrick as his “boyfriend” and turns around, expecting to see some look-alike. His brother never saw Patrick up close, anyways. 

But of course, Tyler was right. And there he is- stepping up to join the end of the line, wearing jeans even in the scorching heat. Patrick yanks a hand through his darkish blonde hair, knocking his hat askew in the process. He adjusts it and turns so that his back is to Pete. 

“Dude.” Pete says it like a curse word as he whips around to face Tyler. 

“Dude, that’s Patrick,” he clarifies, feeling his eyes grow wide and frantic as his breaths shallow with panic. “What do I do?”

“Talk to him?” Tyler shrugs with indifference; Pete remembers that he just came here for some food, he did not sign up to advise Pete through his crisis upon seeing his crush in public. 

Pete sighs, taking a long slurp from his Coke as if it could grant him strength. He frantically smooths down his black fringe and wishes he’d spent more time straightening it that morning. 

He nods. “Okay, yeah. Talk to him. I can do that.”

Tyler rolls his eyes like he really doesn’t understand the whole thing. Pete decides to not assault Patrick until he goes to sit down- that way, he won’t seem too eager, and it grants Pete a few more minutes to collect his thoughts. 

They’re sitting by a window near the center of the restaurant, close enough that he can hear Patrick’s voice as he speaks to the cashier, but Pete can’t make out the exact words he’s saying. His voice is really nice. Deep and soft and calming. He could read an algebra textbook out loud and it would still be heavenly. 

Pete takes a deep breath, throws his shoulders back. His heart is pounding faster and faster because out of his peripheral vision he sees Patrick and his yellow shirt walking casually closer, closer, and maybe if he just sits still he won’t notice him and they can both go about their business?

His throat tightens and he stares down at the grimy table. Pete can’t tell if he’s overjoyed or disappointed when Patrick Stump steps right in front of them, and Pete can’t see his face because he’s still gazing straight down like a stubborn toddler, and Patrick says, “Hey. It’s you.”

Pete glances up at Tyler first, who’s smirking like this is wonderful entertainment. He gives himself approximately one-third of a second to compose himself before swiveling to face Patrick. 

“Hey,” he says, and a genuine smile fights its way through his nerves. “It’s, um, me.”

Patrick laughs, another one of those full-body laughs like he forgets he’s in a crowded restaurant. “Guess you weren’t kidding when you said you couldn’t survive until Monday. It hasn’t even been a whole day.”

Pete mumbles something that sounds vaguely like a mix of “right” and “yeah” and “okay”. With Patrick standing and him sitting, he has to tilt his head up to see. 

“Aren’t you hot?” Pete blurts before he can think better of it. The guy’s wearing loose jeans even in the merciless June sun, and he can only imagine the discomfort. 

Patrick’s lips part slightly, almost in shock, and Pete’s chest tightens because he’s such a fucking idiot, he’s an asshole, who is he to point out his choice in clothing?

“Yeah,” Patrick admits. An apology is already on his tongue, but the lifeguard switches the subject before he can say it. “Anyways, how’s it going?”

“I’m good,” he says meekly. Pete turns to his brother, who appears incredibly interested in their conversation. “Patrick, this is my little brother Tyler. Tyler, this is Patrick. My, um, friend.”

Patrick offers the kid a huge grin. “Hey, Tyler.”

Not about to let his younger brother steal his thunder, Pete turns back to Patrick and says the first thing that comes to mind. “What about you? How have you, um, been?” he asks casually. 

“Good, thanks. Early summer boredom, you know? But I’ve gotten to hang out with friends a lot, so that’s cool.” Pete’s considering standing up so it’s less awkward, but Patrick doesn’t seem to mind too much. 

“Sounds fun,” he says blankly, before cursing himself internally. That’s the perpetual dilemma- Pete doesn’t want to sound disinterested, it’s just that he despises small talk and has no idea how to respond. 

An inevitable spell of silence is casted over the pair. Pete and Patrick both glance uneasily around the perimeter of the shitty restaurant, adjusting respective items of clothing. Say something! Pete’s conscience screams at him. Preferably, something that doesn’t make you look like a total idiot. 

Tyler- Pete had almost forgotten about his brother’s presence- seems to notice the awkwardness too, and takes the task of breaking it into his own hands. 

“Hey Patrick, my brother has a huge crush on you!” he practically yells, brown eyes going wide. A few customers turn to fix him with judgmental glares. 

A strangled gasp fights its way up Pete’s chest. He clenches his fists so hard he thinks his hands might bleed, crimson crawling across his face. 

“Tyler!” he hisses harshly. His neck aches from whipping around to face him too fast. “What the fuck” is the phrase that comes to mind, not that he would say that in front of a fifth grader. 

Instead Pete pastes on the most casual smile he can muster, and turns slowly back to Patrick. The boy appears just as mortified, looking rather comical as he blushes bright red under his hat. Not to mention adorable. 

“Sorry about that,” he seethes through gritted teeth. “Kids say the weirdest stuff, huh?” Pete forces a stale laugh even though internally he kind of wants to curl up and die. 

“I’m not a kid,” Tyler protests from behind him. “I’m ten.”

Pete dismisses this. He shoves his hands underneath his legs and flashes Patrick a frozen smile, hoping he isn’t absolutely horrified and never wants to speak to him again. 

Luckily Patrick brushes it off too, or at least pretends to. “Hey, there’s something I forgot to tell you earlier,” he says, gold-rimmed eyes seeming to shift colors every second. “On Monday I have a doctor’s appointment, so I won’t be able to make my shift at the pool.”

“Oh.” Pete prays his disappointment doesn’t show, ignoring the way his stomach plummets to his shoes. His clingy ass could use a break anyway, even though it’s only been two days since they’d first spoken. 

“Right, that’s cool,” says Pete with a stiff, mechanical nod. “See you Tuesday, I guess?”

Patrick stuffs his hands in his jeans pockets. The corner of his mouth lifts in a lopsided smile, and Pete’s heart does that weird fluttery thing you read about in books. 

The lifeguard’s eyes flicker over to Tyler, who has lost interest and continues assaulting his meal, before they meet Pete’s again. “You know,” Patrick says slowly. “I’ve always wanted to, like, go swimming. After the pool closes when everyone’s gone. You up for it?”

“Wait, what?” Pete blinks, brows pulling together as the invitation sinks in. Patrick Stump. Wants him. To go swimming. With him. When the pool is closed?

Patrick shrugs. “Yeah, it’d be fun. We can go on Monday night if you want, if you can wait that long. I’ll be back from my appointment by then.” His teasing grin makes fireworks go off in his chest. 

Pete runs a hand anxiously through his hair. Tyler doesn’t seem to be paying attention anymore, not that he would tell on them for sneaking into the pool. “Yeah, I’m up for it,” he stammers. “But if we get caught I’m blaming it on you.”

“Will do.”

Why me? Pete wants to scream. Why not any of your three dozen, way more outgoing friends?

“No one else seems very interested, I guess they think swimming is kind of childish,” Patrick says as if he can read Pete’s mind. 

He forces a laugh. The last thing he wants is Patrick thinking he’s immature or something. “Yeah, sounds fun. When should I meet you at the pool?”

Patrick reaches into the pocket of his jeans and pulls out his phone, unlocking it and handing it to Pete. “is nine thirty-ish okay? I’ll text you,” he says, rocking back on his heels almost anxiously.

He clenches his fists to quell their trembling before typing his number into Patrick’s phone. He simply saves his contact name as “Pete,” deciding it’s too early for cute nicknames and emojis and the like. 

“Cool.” Patrick grins, stuffing his phone back into his pocket. 

Patrick’s name is called before Pete can say anything else- which he considers a blessing- signaling that his food is ready. He shuffles to the front apologetically and returns with a neon orange tray with a white paper bag atop it. 

Unfortunately, there are no unoccupied tables next to Pete and Tyler. “Talk to you later?” Patrick says, blue eyes peeking out from over the bag of food. 

“Yeah. Course. I’ll text you,” he promises, sounding a little out of breath. 

Pete turns back to Tyler and his now-slightly-lukewarm burger, hazel eyes wide. “Oh my god, Patrick Stump just asked me to hang out with him,” he says more to himself that anyone else. 

His brother rolls his eyes. “Look, dude, he seemed totally into you,” Tyler says. “Don’t worry.”

Pete’s heart lifts even though he doesn’t totally believe him. He smooths back his hair, positively wonderstruck. 

He and Patrick- at least, Pete assumes they’ll be alone- at night, swimming in a neighborhood pool after closing time. He imagines cold water dripping off his pale skin, the moon overhead, eyes smiling and dancing through the dark and gets a little lightheaded. 

Pete steals more than a few inconspicuous glances in Patrick’s direction as he eats, and it’s just as creepy as it sounds. Yeah, he might be the tiniest bit infatuated with him.  
He considers this Step One of Getting Patrick Stump to Fall in Love With Him- unless their initial conversation counts. His next task is to survive til Monday.

-

Patrick figures he’s kind of fucked.

It was pure impulse that made him ask Pete to go swimming with him, and now he can’t say he regrets it. There was that brief moment of “what the fuck did I just say?” but if that brief impulse hadn’t struck him, he wouldn’t currently be preparing to go hang out with Pete. He considers it an accomplishment.

And as much as he’d hate to admit it, he’s been a bit of a nervous wreck all week. Patrick’s not quite sure why- it’s not a big deal. They’re just two guys doing some crazy shit because it’s summer and they have nothing better to do. 

He’s fairly certain he’s been at least vaguely aware of Pete’s existence since Patrick moved here in seventh grade. But in all honesty, all those cliché high school movies are right- everyone has their own friend group no matter how big or small, and friend groups do not mix. 

The whole clique thing isn’t as accurate; athletes and artists and such mix just fine. If he remembers correctly, Pete did tech theater, like lights and sounds and stuff like that. He had a couple friends he seemed really close to but mostly kept to himself. 

And he’s smart. When they were in US History together, most of Patrick’s memories of him involve their teacher congratulating him on a perfect score, other kids flocking to him for help. Patrick and his friends throwing sort-of-subtle glances at his paper during tests. 

Nerd. 

It’s funny how your perception of someone can change in the blink of an eye. Now Patrick wishes he’d paid a bit more attention to Pete Wentz; he feels guilty for seeing him as nothing but that stereotypical quiet dork. 

And it sounds cliché, but no one- as bland as they appear- is just one thing. No one is simply popular or slutty or emo or nerdy or whatever. 

Patrick likes people, he likes to analyze them and peel back the layers, maybe that’s why he’s so sociable. He likes people and he likes talking to them and he’s good at it.  
He also likes Pete Wentz. A lot. 

As much as he enjoys analyzing people’s personalities, Patrick’s decided not to read too much into his feelings. He enjoys Pete’s company and wants to spend time with him, that’s all. Nothing more than that. Nothing complicated. 

Which is why it’s so ridiculous when he finds himself fretting over his appearance at eight-thirty that Monday. He usually doesn’t care that much, just throws on a beanie and goes, but that won’t work for multiple reasons. 

There’s really no reason to wear his lifeguard uniform (which is just a pair of cherry-red swim trunks, but you know, uniform sounds a lot more professional.) So Patrick finds a plain navy blue swimsuit, and tugs a random white shirt over his head. Good enough. 

He tells himself that it doesn’t matter how his hair looks, it’s going to get wet anyways, but he frowns into the mirror while running his hands through it furiously. 

Finally, Patrick decides that he looks acceptable. Pete’s the only person that’s going to see him, and Pete doesn’t give a shit, why is he worrying so much?

Because he’s not used to this, Patrick realizes. He’s not used to having someone to impress. He’s known his friends long enough to not care, and with anyone else, he knows he won’t speak to them after a week, tops. 

Not that he needs to impress Pete. 

Patrick had told his mom that he’s going to hang out at a friend’s house for a couple hours. He calls out a goodbye as he exits out the front door, taking only his phone. 

The pool is only a three minute walk from his house, which is part of the reason why he applied to be a lifeguard there. Patrick’s an alright swimmer, doesn’t love it or hate it, and he’s not a big fan of hanging around shirtless all day; but his mom had made the suggestion and he couldn’t really say no. 

It only has the amount of security you’d expect from a shitty neighborhood pool in a suburb of Chicago, which is virtually none. When Patrick reaches the gate, the balmy night air already has sweat beading on his skin. 

It’s locked, whoever had the job of closing up tonight at least managed that, but the key card every employee has works at any time. Luckily no one is present even though the pool has only been closed for a little under an hour. 

So Patrick perches on the edge of the closest plastic deck chair and waits for Pete. He’s a couple minutes early, but it shouldn’t take long. 

He wonders what Pete thinks of this whole thing. Like, does he think that Patrick genuinely wants to hang out with him, or does he assume that he’s simply bored to death and needs someone to waste time with?

Pete must be confused, at least- they’ve barely talked and suddenly Patrick wants to do something with him that could get them both in heaps of trouble. Patrick wouldn’t blame him. He can’t say he understands his reasoning either. 

He’s probably intimidated, in all honesty. Patrick doesn’t exactly have the best reputation. But if Patrick wanted to fuck him and be done with him, he wouldn’t do it at a pool. That sounds like an awful hassle. But kind of fun when he thinks about it. 

The pros and cons of pool sex aside, Pete’s a great person and Patrick figures if he wants to try this whole “becoming emotionally attached to someone” thing, he’s a good candidate to start with. 

He rests his chin in his hands and stares at the cement path leading up to the gate, humming under his breath. It’s a little creepy if he’s being honest with himself. Patrick shivers in his thin shirt despite the humid air. 

Luckily, he spots a short Pete-shaped figure walking up the sidewalk before Patrick can contemplate the possibility of a serial killer crouched behind the equipment building with a knife. He stands, waving. 

“Hey,” says Patrick, shuffling over to open the gate for him.

Pete grins. “Hi.”

He’s wearing a t-shirt advertising some band Patrick’s never heard of, and yellow-and-blue striped swim shorts. That oddly endearing black fringe is scattered sloppily over his forehead and if Patrick isn’t mistaken, he swears Pete’s hands are trembling. 

“You’re here.” Pete lets out a shaky little laugh. “I half expected you to, like, stand me up or something.”

Patrick frowns. “Dude, I’m not a total dick,” he says, honestly a little offended. 

Patrick glances almost hesitantly at the pool behind him, the unimpressive cement rectangle filled with grayish water. How romantic. 

“Patrick?” Pete asks. “What are the chances of us getting caught?”

Pete’s pretty hazel-ish eyes are wide and a little scared, like a little kid sneaking another cookie against his parents’ wishes. Patrick shrugs indifferently. “Close to none. I guess someone driving by could see us, but I doubt they’d give a shit.”

This is true, and it seems to help Pete relax. Without an invitation, the slightly taller boy yanks off his t-shirt and tosses it onto a nearby deck chair. 

Since they met at the pool, seventy percent of their interactions featured both of them shirtless. So it’s not a big deal in the slightest, but now they’re alone and the sliver of a moon is casting glowing hues on Pete’s chest and lean stomach and yeah, this is the best idea Patrick’s ever had. 

He’s narrow-framed and dark-skinned and gorgeous, and everything Patrick isn’t. Patrick swallows back the brief, panicky flash of nausea and drops his gaze to the cement of the deck. 

Pete appears to sense his discomfort, and blessedly pretends to be interested in a trail of ants marching along the deck. Patrick tugs off his shirt in a practiced motion. Pete’s cool and from their short interactions, he’s grown comfortable in his presence so it’s not so bad. 

And it’s dark. According to the clock hanging on the wall of the equipment building, it’s two minutes past nine, and the persistent summer sun has recently completed its journey across the sky. 

“Do you think it’ll be cold?” Pete asks, crossing his arms as he stares apprehensively at the water. 

Patrick shrugs. “Maybe. We’ll do it together, yeah?”

He nods, still looking a little jittery like Patrick’s going to randomly assault him or something. He’s not that intimidating, is he?

So Patrick reaches out a hand, offering Pete his most winning smile. “You seemed pretty excited about it when I asked you on Thursday,” he teases. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”  
“What is this, High School Musical 2?” Pete grumbles, but takes Patrick’s hand. His palm is warm and his fingers hold on tight. 

Patrick decides to ignore that remark, instead tugging Pete gently to the deepest end. Beside them stands the diving board with its rusted spring. 

He glances at Pete and sees that the boy’s eyes are fixated upward, at the silky indigo-ish blanket of the sky. The still water carries a rippling glow from the moon overhead. Crickets chirp from the expanse of grass just outside the fence, providing a rather bothersome melody.  
“Okay,” Patrick says slowly, grinning. “On three?”

With the look on Pete’s face, you’d think they were about to jump off a cliff into an ocean full of sharks. “On three,” he echoes, rolling his shoulders back. 

Patrick laughs. “One,” he begins, slowly. “Two.” A car streaks past. He holds Pete’s hand tighter. “Three!”

If Pete had changed his mind at the last second, he’d be screwed anyway, because when Patrick jumps he makes a point of yanking hard on his hand and taking the other boy with him. 

Patrick holds his breath and leaps off the edge, hearing a yelp from Pete. A fraction of a second later he’s plunging below the water, a shock of cold spiking through his nerves. There’s a loud splash and he surfaces, gasping involuntarily as he treads water. 

“Fun, right?” says Patrick, teeth chattering. 

Pete’s eyes are twice their normal size, pool water dripping- or more accurarely, pouring- off his hair. His hand is still twined firmly with Patrick’s. “It’s cold.”

Really, the initial shock was the worst; it’s surprisingly warm despite what Patrick originally thought. “It’s warmer when you move around,” he points out, pushing aside the soaking hair plastered to his forehead. “Race you to the other end?”

Pete frowns in protest, opening his mouth to decline, but Patrick’s already taken off. 

He’s a pretty fast swimmer when he puts his mind to it, and beating Pete is pretty effective motivation. Seconds later he hears Pete mutter a “fuck you” and then he’s accepted the race, rocketing across the pool. 

Pete’s naturally more athletic but Patrick has the practice. With his lifeguard training he can cross the pool in mere seconds, slicing seamlessly through the water. He can hear Pete’s form is off simply by the painfully loud splashes- Patrick’s almost scared he’s going to get them caught. 

But of course, Patrick is victorious. He latches onto the edge of the pool, grinning madly. Pete joins him a few seconds later. 

“Okay, that’s hardly fair,” Pete says, taking heavy, gasping breaths. “You had a head start. And you do this, like, every day.”

Patrick wants to point out that lifeguarding consists mainly of sitting and sweating buckets and yelling at kids for running, but doesn’t protest. “Rematch?” he suggests wickedly, displaying a manic grin, but Pete shakes his head. 

There’s really not too much to do, but Pete and Patrick somehow waste nearly two hours. The minutes under the papery moon flick by like pages on a calendar during the summertime. Eventually his limbs become weighted and his fingertips start to wrinkle, and Patrick’s forgotten how exhausting screwing around in a pool can be.

After forty-five minutes or so, the pair declare that exercise sucks and instead opt to float semi-awkwardly in the shallow end while talking about things that only seem worth talking about when you’re in a shitty public pool after hours. 

“The beach is just kind of boring, you know?” Pete says, soaked black fringe plastered comically across his forehead as he recounts a family vacation. “Like, there’s not much to do, and unless you’re a little kid it gets really old really fast. Plus all that sand in your shoes.”

Patrick’s trying to listen, he really is; but the other half of his mind is going over the few things he’s learned about Pete Wentz and trying to commit them to memory.  
Like, he just turned seventeen last week, he’s an absolute dork who “doesn’t really do this kind of stuff” (as if it wasn’t obvious) and he’s kind of totally adorable. 

And he will not take Patrick’s shit. During a very brief spell of silence, the boy crosses his shivering arms across his chest and says, “Look, Patrick. If this whole thing was just a plan to get me to- or for you to, um, you know- it’s not going to work.”

As much as he was expecting it, the remark kind of stings. “Pete, that’s not why I asked you to come here with me,” Patrick snaps, and it comes a little less patiently than he had planned. “I mean, you don’t really have any reason to believe what I say, but I- genuinely kind of like you, okay?”

He spits the last six words so quickly he prays Pete can’t understand them, and then sinks down until the grimy water reaches his chin, contemplating drowning himself then and there because Patrick Stump has never admitted to liking anyone in his entire life. 

Pete blushes, or at least Patrick thinks he blushes- it’s kind of hard to tell with only the moon as a source of light. His face is almost entirely in shadows, almost making him appear a couple years older.

“Okay,” the other boy stammers. “Okay, sorry.”

Patrick mumbles a “it’s cool” in return, and the two of them seem to come to the same conclusion that it’s late and they’re starting to freeze their asses off and should probably dry off. 

So, at ten fifty-two according to the clock, Pete and Patrick clamber up the stairs with water dripping in freezing rivulets off their bodies. Patrick forgot a towel because Patrick is a fucking idiot, but luckily there are extras in the equipment building. 

“You okay to go home?” Patrick asks, throwing on his shirt and immediately wrapping the frayed towel securely around his body. 

Pete nods. He’s shivering like crazy, wringing pool water out of his longish hair. “My parents are probably asleep by now anyways.”

They’ve gravitated subconsciously to go stand by the gate, shaking and smiling and huddled inside towels. “I, um. Had fun,” says Pete, sounding a little lost as he tugs at his damp t-shirt. “And we didn’t get caught, which was kind of surprising.”

Patrick rolls his eyes. “Dude, I told you we’d be fine.”

If there’s one thing Patrick’s good at, it’s up and leaving before things get awkward. After a hook-up, for example. Not that this is anything like a hook-up, but there’s still that tense moment afterward of “well, what do we do now?”

But Patrick wasn’t lying when he said he genuinely likes Pete, and suddenly he remembers something. How could he forget?

“Hey,” he says. “You still coming to Brendon’s party on Friday?”

For a moment Pete looks a little shocked, as if the upcoming event had evaded his mind as well. Then he nods. “Yeah, course I’m coming. Just text me the time or whatever.”

“Yeah.”

He grins and Patrick kind of wants to kiss him; Pete has nice lips and they probably taste like chlorine, but common sense kicks in and he remembers that it’s way too early for that. So he settles for a smile instead. 

Pete takes a visibly deep breath and pulls the towel tighter around his narrow shoulders. “I should probably get home,” he says. “I’ll see you later, right?”

“At Brendon’s party,” Patrick confirms. “Though, um, I’m working tomorrow and Wednesday if you’re not busy.”

Pete smiles, and Pete has one of the prettiest smiles Patrick’s ever seen and he kind of wants to watch him forever while his brown eyes crinkle at the corners. “Yeah, maybe I’ll stop by,” he says almost slyly, and Patrick tries not to laugh as he struggles once again to open the gate. 

-  
Pete does stop by, only on Wednesday because he doesn’t want to appear too clingy. Patrick texts him with the times he goes on break, and Pete makes sure to come then and lets Tyler swim while they sneak away. 

As scandalous as it sounds, they really don’t do anything too questionable; just sit behind the equipment building and hang around and talk. But by the way Pete’s hands tremble you’d think they were going to go rob a bank or something. 

After Monday night, Pete’s become a lot more comfortable around him. He’s stopped putting Patrick on a pedestal and seeing him as some untouchable picture of perfection; he’s his friend. 

And, unless Pete’s lovesick brain is making him see things, Patrick seems at least vaguely interested in him. 

Though a practical little voice in the back of his head whispers to him that maybe, Patrick liking him is a bad thing. You’ve heard all the legends about Patrick Stump, the smarter part of his conscience points out. You don’t want that to happen to you; do you?

And the horny teenager part of him does want it, but the aftermath would be torture; he doesn’t want Patrick to use him just to throw him away. 

All things considered, he is terrified for Brendon’s party. 

It’s not seeing Patrick he’s worried about. The two of them hung out at the pool for hours on Wednesday, and have texted every day since their little swim on Monday night. Even if Patrick does like him in the “I want to be in a relationship with you way,” Pete’s going to meet all his fuckboy friends. (Not that he only wants to date him. They haven’t known each other very long, after all, and staying platonic is totally cool.)

Friends of friends are hardly likeable, in his experience. He’s going to die of awkwardness. 

His mom, to Pete’s surprise, is not opposed in the slightest to him attending to the party. He guesses she’s just happy he’s socializing for once. 

It’s not the chest-squeezing, horrible about-to-jump-out-an-airplane panic that plagues him; but the kind of buzzing anxiety that comes before a doctor’s appointment or something. After that embarrassing little episode when Patrick sort of asked him to the party, Pete knows he isn’t exactly welcome. But he doesn’t let this sway him.

Brendon’s house isn’t too far from Pete’s. It’s larger and much nicer too, at the end of a cul-de-sac. He’s arrived a couple minutes late, but by the looks of it only a small number of people are present. 

Everyone from their school will be there, Patrick had said of the event. His stomach feels kind of tensed and tight but he’ll be okay, Pete tells himself. He just has to find Patrick and hang out with his friends and it’ll be fun. 

This isn’t his first high school party, and Pete has no doubt that some illegal shit will be going on. Drinking, definitely. 

So Pete parks in front of one of Brendon’s unsuspecting neighbor’s houses and slams the door, hard. He checks his reflection briefly in the car window- he’s applied a bit of black eyeliner, and he thinks it looks pretty good. 

He’s gathering his courage and stomping determinedly up the sidewalk leading up to Brendon’s house, when the front door suddenly flies open. Patrick’s standing there, wearing the biggest grin Pete has ever seen. He can’t be drunk already, can he?

Yet there’s no drink in sight, just an empty hand brushing casually through his off-blonde hair. And Pete has no idea what possesses Patrick to turn behind him and yell, “Hey, Pete’s here!”

Pete feels the embarrassment burn all the way down to the tips of his toes. Patrick turns back to face him, still beaming brightly. “Hey, Pete,” he says. “I’m really glad you came.”   
This makes Pete put on a twin smile. “Thanks. And I’m, um, really glad you’re here.”

As he goes to stuff his hands into the pockets of his jeans, Patrick intercepts his fingers and squeezes them tight. He tugs Pete through the door without hesitation, almost making him trip over the welcome mat. 

The interior is dark, as if Brendon had shut off all the lights to set the mood, and a bit of orangish light from the setting sun bleeds in through the windows. “Um,” Pete manages as Patrick yanks him down the entry hall, passing clusters of kids. “Where are we going?”

The other boy drops his hand and Pete’s heart falls with it. They’re at the bottom of the stairs and Pete gets a closer look at Patrick- he’s wearing jeans and a t-shirt, a black beanie covering most of his hair. 

“I was going to take you up to Brendon’s room, that’s where everyone else is,” Patrick explains. “So you can meet my friends?”

Pete nods, swallowing down that bit of irrational paranoia. If this party is as big as Patrick made it out to be- though he was most likely exaggerating- this plan sounds way better than dealing with the crowds downstairs. 

Patrick smiles, and just like each other time, every bit of resolve Pete had goes crumbling to the floor at the sight of that stunning grin. He allows Patrick to seize his hand once again and tug him up the stairs. 

Pete can hear the slurred chatter spilling through the walls before they’ve even reached the second story. He’s not sure if he’s ecstatic or mortified when Patrick maintains his tight hold on his fingers, and his skin is soft and a little bit sweaty. 

God damn it, Pete doesn’t have time to compose himself and mentally prepare for human interaction. The pressure of Patrick’s palm soothes him somehow, and Pete screams at himself to be cool and not fuck anything up and he’s throwing Brendon’s bedroom door open. 

“Hey, Pete’s here,” the slightly older boy proclaims, as if the first time wasn’t enough. 

Pete curls his free hand into a fist as heads turn in his direction. There’s around seven of Patrick’s friends, and their school is small enough that he recognizes them all. Brendon Urie himself isn’t present in the room; maybe he’s downstairs greeting guests or something. 

“Um,” Pete says, choking a little before clearing his throat. “Hi.”

And that is his friends’ invitations to go back to whatever they were doing. Which is chatting animatedly for the most part, or taking long sips from red plastic cups. The room is heavy with the scent of alcohol. 

Patrick sighs. Still standing in the doorway beside him, his fingers curl just the tiniest bit tighter around Pete’s. No one is paying any attention to them, but heat still blossoms in his cheeks when Patrick turns and moves close. 

“Sorry about this,” he says with a shaky laugh, lips beside Pete’s ear. “If you want, we can go someplace else, just us-“

“No,” Pete blurts. It comes out a lot louder than he intended, and half of Patrick’s friends shoot him that “what the fuck” look. 

“I mean,” he amends through clenched teeth, quiet enough so that only Patrick can hear. “I’m good here. But thanks.”

Sneaking away with Patrick does sound kind of nice- Pete really doesn’t want to jump to conclusions, but what if Patrick wants what Pete thinks he wants?

Okay, so he’s kind of an asshole for assuming things. Just because Patrick has a reputation doesn’t mean he wants to fuck every person he lays eyes on. And he’s smart, he wouldn’t throw away his and Pete’s friendship like that. 

So Patrick beckons him over to Brendon’s bed, the only unoccupied surface of the room. Pete adjusts his shirt quickly and settles cross-legged on the dark blue bedspread. 

“Who is this again?” a guy seated in the desk chair pipes up. He’s short, with dark hair and a silver lip ring. Frank, if he remembers correctly. 

Patrick rolls his eyes. “Remember when I told you guys about Pete?” he says, catching the attention of almost everyone else present. “I met him working at the pool. But he went to our school, you remember him, right?”

A few of them shake their heads. Pete clenches his jaw and ducks down with his eyes fixed on the bedsheets, feeling like the lamest person in the whole world. 

“So. Are you guys, like, dating?” says a guy Pete recognizes as Alex. He and a few others are clumped together on the carpet, all with beers. 

“Nope,” Patrick clarifies before Pete can panic and blurt something stupid. “But we’re best friends, right?” He beams, throwing an arm haphazardly over Pete’s shoulders and tugging him to his side. 

“Best friends.” Pete confirms with a tremor in his voice. He swears he can’t smell any alcohol on Patrick, but there’s no way in hell he’s sober. 

Either way, one of his fuckboy friends offers Patrick a drink and he accepts and their attention is diverted from Pete. They launch into some idle conversation and Pete’s considering going downstairs for something to drink, as a distraction and so that he isn’t the odd one out. 

Time crawls by, and Pete hates this party more and more with each second. He hates the baby blue walls that seem to press in on him and Patrick’s dumbass friends who couldn’t give less of a shit about him. 

But he bears it, knowing if he displays his sour mood things will only get worse. Pete smiles stiffly and pretends to be interested in conversation she’s not involved with, in Gerard Way’s latest girlfriend or some movie Pete hasn’t seen yet. 

Even with the ten of them tucked away upstairs, the chaotic symphony pulses through the walls of the house; yelling teenagers and a bass that vibrates in Pete’s chest. 

He watches as their group becomes more and more drunk; Patrick’s actually fairly sensible and cuts himself off after only one beer. And just when Pete swears the boy’s going to nod off then and there, Patrick Stump latches onto his wrist. 

“Let’s go,” he coaxes, Pete’s pulse racing underneath his warm fingertips. “You and me. Somewhere else. Yeah?”

As long as “somewhere else” isn’t some empty bedroom, Pete’s down. He nods. “Yeah, alright.”

No one questions Pete or Patrick when the two of them slip away; though Pete’s fairly certain he hears a cheer of encouragement as they sneak out the door. Patrick giggles in his ear and they step hand in hand down the stairs. 

Pete would classify it as utter pandemonium, though for everyone else it’s just another party. Outside, people are swimming in Brendon’s pool and taking turns leaping off the roof of his garage. “Want to go for a swim, lifeguard?” Pete jokingly asks his buzzed best friend. 

Patrick leads him into the dining room off the entry hall, away from all the dancing and drinking and overall craziness. There are a couple of overstuffed chairs in the corner with a tiny table and a vase of dehydrated-looking flowers between them. Perfect.

This is what he and Patrick do best, Pete thinks, from their week of knowing each other. Slipping away from crowds into a world of their own. 

Patrick squirms in the chair, shoving a hand under his beanie to mess with his hair and knocking the hat sideways. “You know, I’m the only gay one of my friends,” he says matter-of-factly. 

“Oh yeah?” he hums distractedly. “I know the feeling.”

“I like being with you, Pete. I like you way more than my other friends. I mean, you’re kind of a nerd, but you’re really cute.”

Pete knows he shouldn’t believe a word that comes out of his mouth, but he can’t help the strange rush of flattery. “Me too,” he says genuinely. “Like, I don’t have a ton of friends or whatever, but I like you a lot.”

He has to admit Patrick looks unfairly adorable when he’s drunk; all pinkish cheeks and crooked hat and crooked grin. He only had one drink, Pete reminds himself; he might have a low alcohol tolerance but he’s only the tiniest bit drunk. Sober enough to take responsibility for his actions. 

And, as Pete notices as the night goes on and on, he seems pretty much normal. A bit more flirtatious than usual, though he’s not quite sure it’s the drink’s doing. 

At ten thirty-eight according to Pete’s phone, Patrick announces that he’s going to go piss. He walks off to the nearest bathroom and Pete lets out a long sigh. 

He slumps down in the chair as if it could hide him from sight. Across the hall is a vacant room that looks like a home office, and Pete’s pretty sure no one can see the short guy in eyeliner sitting alone away from everyone else. He wonders if anyone’s looking for Patrick. 

So far, in his opinion, this party isn’t going too terrible. Patrick’s friends might all be assholes but he won’t let that bother him too much. At least no one’s forced him to dance or anything. 

Ten minutes pass and Patrick hasn’t returned yet, but Pete figures it’s a huge party and there must be a long line for the bathroom. He pulls out his phone and pretends to text so he won’t look like such a loser. 

Ten more minutes crawl by. 

Pete takes a deep breath, fighting back the bitter panic rising in his throat. Ten more and it’s been half an hour and his chest feels tight and his eyes are stinging with suppressed tears. 

Okay, he needs to be rational; Patrick’s probably done in the bathroom, but what if he saw an old friend who intercepted him and they’re catching up? Or someone convinced him to go for a swim or dance with them?

It’s nothing. It’s nothing, everything’s okay.

But by now it’s been forty-five minutes since he left and Pete’s sick of sitting and waiting for him. He braces himself and leaves the shelter of the dining room.  
In Brendon’s kitchen- which has been converted into a bar of sorts for the night- he finds someone he recognizes as one of Patrick’s friends, his name is Gabe or something. 

Pete clears his throat. “Hey?” he says weakly. The guy turns and he’s incredibly tall, and by the looks of it, incredibly drunk. 

“I was just wondering if you’ve seen Patrick recently. He kinda disappeared,” Pete says as casually as he can muster. 

The boy’s neck must hurt from looking down at him. “Yeah,” he confirms, and Pete’s heart flips upside down. “Didn’t you see? He came out of the bathroom and then he and this girl disappeared somewhere. Upstairs, I’m pretty sure. He’s probably gonna be a while.”

The Gabe guy laughs, and the words are like a kick in the teeth, ringing mockingly in his ears. 

Of course. Of fucking course! How could he go to a party with Patrick Stump and not expect him to do what Patrick Stump does best?

“Thanks,” Pete seethes, stomping back towards the front door, passing the stupid dining room and those stupid chairs where he thought maybe, just maybe, Patrick admitted to liking him. 

Idiot. Before leaving to his car, he marches to the kitchen and grabs a beer on his way out. 

-

Operation Get Patrick to Fall in Love with Him is going down the drain. 

Similarly, that’s where the beer he snatched from Brendon’s house ends up. Pete wasn’t frustrated enough to leave his conscience and drive drunk, and he’s never really drank anyways so he pours the bottle’s contents down his bathroom sink. 

The next day is Saturday, and when he wakes up at two p.m, it’s raining outside. The inside of his head feels like his bedroom window; pummeled by icy knives. 

The weather makes it surprisingly dark outside for early afternoon, and that plus his pounding headache make it impossible for Pete to force himself out of bed. And that’s before he remembers the previous night’s events. 

Since it’s the weekend he doesn’t have to watch Tyler, so he sleeps for a little longer before going downstairs to find food. “How was your party?” Pete’s mom asks. 

He grumbles out a half-assed “fine” and goes to get a pop tart from the pantry. 

As the day drags on, so does his sour mood. Rather than get his shit together and figure out this mess of feelings, Pete instead opts to lay in bed and watch Netflix. 

And it does kind of help, until his mind starts to cloud over and drift to places it should not be allowed to go. It’s stupid and Pete knows it. It’s ridiculous to feel so betrayed, like something was stolen from him, when Patrick was never his. 

It’s Pete’s fault, he and his clingy ass. Patrick is his friend and he’s not interested in him and hookups are his specialty and this should be no surprise. He chants this over and over like a mantra, until it stops feeling like a punch in the stomach. 

Speaking of Patrick. Sometime that Saturday afternoon, when he’s on a season finale, Pete’s phone buzzes with a text from the infuriatingly gorgeous boy. He braces himself and opens it. 

patrick: hey, are you okay? gabe said you left out of nowhere last night. 

 

He stares at the words in the blue bubble until his eyes unfocus, feeling like his insides are melting to the floor.

How dare he play innocent, like he did nothing wrong, like Pete storming out was a surprise? How long did it take for Patrick to notice his absence? Did it ever occur to him that Pete might wonder where the hell he went?

Asshole, Pete seethes to himself, shutting off his phone. He admits that ignoring him might not be the best option, but Pete Wentz is one stubborn motherfucker and quite enjoys giving the silent treatment. 

So they’re back to square one. Patrick’s a selfish dick and Pete doesn’t give a single shit about him. 

Okay, so maybe he’s overreacting with that part. But it’s definitely a dick move; if Patrick was sober enough to carry a normal conversation, he should have known Pete would be hurt if he abandoned him for some random girl. He should have known better, right?

But Pete likes Patrick a lot and does not want to be angry at him. It’s not something he should simply brush off, but he doesn’t want to hold a grudge either. 

Besides, Gabe was his only source on what happened, and he looked too wasted to think straight. Pete doesn’t have proof that they were fucking. Though, with Patrick, it’s not hard to believe. 

Either way, the bottom line is that Pete’s little crush is going to go nowhere. He’s fairly certain Patrick’s never had a relationship that’s lasted more than one night. If he’s looking for commitment, he’s not going to want to find it in a short dork who wears eyeliner and makes pathetic attempts at flirting with him.

Eventually he decides to sleep it off. It’s still raining, though much calmer, and the soft tap-tap-tap against his window is like a lullaby. 

By Sunday afternoon, the slight drizzle has evolved into a full-on thunderstorm. Pete turns the volume on his laptop all the way up as thunder erupts and lightning shatters the sky with a flash. 

Patrick texts him twice again that day, both times asking if he’s okay. Pete curses the stupid swelling of his heart and ignores the practical voice in his head telling him to respond. When he finally trudges downstairs- for food, what else- the TV in the living room is displaying the weather forecast. Apparently the rainstorms are supposed to continue on and off until at least Tuesday. Perfect. At least he has an excuse not to see Patrick. 

Pete deflects his parent’s concerned inquiries of “are you alright,” something he’s mastered over the years, and goes back up to his room. 

He’s never been very good with emotions- he prefers to forget about them like an ice cube kicked underneath the fridge. But if there’s one thing Pete knows, it’s that he is tragically and undeniably in love with Patrick Stump. 

The next day is Monday and the end of his grace period. He had his couple days to sulk, and now he’s back to watching Tyler. Fortunately for him his brother invites a friend over, which kind of alleviates Pete’s responsibility of keeping him entertained. 

He’s thinking today has the potential to be pretty good, minus the fact that he can’t drive anywhere- his car was due for an oil change and it’s going to be a couple hours. But Pete is kind of sick of wallowing in self-pity and won’t let this dampen his brightening day. 

It’s sunny when Pete wakes up around midmorning, and he resists the urge to throw open his window and breathe in the scent of rain on pavement. The clear skies work wonders on his previously stormy mood. 

Until Tyler’s friend- a boy named Josh- says he wants to go swimming. 

“It might be closed,” Pete points out, lounging on the couch with his phone and pretending like his heart hadn’t stopped beating for what felt like a full minute. “It’s clear now but it might start raining again, remember?”

Tyler rolls his eyes in true sassy fifth grader fashion. “Don’t you want to see your boyfriend?” he says, drawing out the last word as if he wants to get punched. 

“Wait. I don’t have my car,” says Pete, glad to have a valid excuse. “It’s kind of a long walk, and it’s so hot…”

“Don’t be dramatic. Walking is fine,” Tyler says. 

Great. The universe might be conspiring to keep Pete and Patrick apart, but not even the universe can compete with Tyler’s stubbornness. 

It’s Monday, so Patrick is working. And after Pete ignored his text two days ago, he will undoubtedly try to ask him what’s wrong. 

He definitely overreacted, Pete admits to himself as Josh and Tyler continue to implore him. And if he really wants Operation Get Patrick to Fall in Love with Him to be a success, he needs to learn to be a bit more forgiving. 

Though of course, there’s that whole thing with this “operation” being totally pointless because Patrick Stump is the most infamous guy at school, and would never, ever settle for someone like Pete. 

“Okay. Okay, go get dressed,” Pete snaps, mostly because he’s not in the mood to argue. “We’re going to the pool.”

-

Ten minutes later, Pete’s fighting back the panicky kind of nausea bubbling in his chest, curling his fists tight to stop them from shaking. 

By “it’s kind of a long walk” he meant it’s only around ten minutes, though it feels more like two hours in the heat. Pete’s sweating buckets before they even reach the pool- though anxiety might have something to do with it. 

It’s pretty much empty, with only a couple families hanging around. Of course, because the majority of people are not idiots and know not to go swimming when it was thundering like crazy twelve hours ago. Pete’s surprised the pool is open. 

He’s been bracing himself during the whole walk here, but when Pete, Tyler and Josh enter through the gate, nothing prepared him to see Patrick Stump sitting up on his tower like always. 

Pete ducks his head, feeling like a child, terrified of Patrick spotting him and saying hi. Besides, he cannot handle seeing that gorgeous face when he’s trying to be mad at him.  
He leads the younger boys to the farthest possible deck chair from Patrick’s perch. Shit, he should have argued more, insisted they do anything other than swim, whether he’s still angry at Patrick or not he’s still going to have to talk to him. 

Tyler and Josh bolt off to go swim, leaving Pete to settle awkwardly on the deck chair. He hopes his headphones and sunglasses are enough to dissuade Patrick from approaching him. 

At the same time, wouldn’t it be better to pretend like nothing happened? Pete could apologize and say he simply lost his phone and couldn’t respond. It’s a good plan, he thinks, except for the fact that his earbuds are plugged into his phone and oh shit Patrick’s eye catches his and he’s smiling and waving oh shit oh shit. 

Accidental eye contact, ruining everything since forever. Pete’s lungs seem to fill with freezing water and he forces a tight smile. 

Patrick’s lips part as if he’s about to mouth something from across the pool, those perfect, perfect lips that are basically the most magnificent thing Pete’s ever seen and his heart is pounding and then- a clap of thunder makes him jump out of the chair. 

He collects himself in time to see Patrick’s shoulders fall with a sigh, then the lifeguard lifts the whistle up to his lips and blows it shrilly. “Everyone out,” he yells even though there are only five kids in the pool. 

Pete looks up at the sky; it was bright and sunny when they left the house, but has somehow clouded over in the past fifteen minutes or so. Heavy grayish clouds blot out the sun and look prepared to pour down rain at any moment. 

And that’s exactly what happens. It starts with a few fat drops, one spattering onto Pete’s cheek and dripping down like a tear. He wipes it away furiously while cursing the unfortunately timed downpour. 

The kids in the pool climb out, joining their families and dashing frantically out to the parking lot. The rain descends harder and harder, and Pete stuffs his phone into the bag, swiping at his eyes. 

“Pete!” yells a familiar voice, coupled with a laugh that makes his stomach flip. “You dumbass, get over here!”

He complies reluctantly, shoving the towels and such into his mom’s bag and hurrying through the pouring rain over to where Patrick stands beside the building. Tyler and Josh follow close behind him. 

The two other families have already driven away. The weather would be the perfect excuse to avoid Patrick, if he could take the younger boys home now.

But he doesn’t have his car, so they’re kind of stuck here. Fate has screwed him over once again. 

Though, there are worse people to be stranded at a public pool with. And Patrick is definitely not the least desirable, especially a Patrick with water dripping off his blondish hair and an impatient sort of scowl that shouldn’t be as attractive as it is. 

The four of them huddle just outside the brick building. Luckily for them there’s an awning, protecting them from the rain that continues to pummel at the pavement just feet away. 

“Um. Hi,” says Pete lamely for lack of anything better, shoving his own soaked hair off his forehead. 

“You came at the perfect time,” Patrick teases with a crooked grin. “I’m guessing you guys walked here? We can wait it out, it shouldn’t take too long. I can check the weather.”

Pete shakes his head. “Sorry about this, guys,” he tells Josh and Tyler as Patrick buzzes away momentarily. Out of his peripheral vision, he sees the lifeguard pick a folded-up shirt and tug it on. Pete tries to hide his disappointment. 

Patrick returns just as lightning flashes, illuminating the sky for half a second. Pete sighs. From the looks of it, the rain won’t be letting up anytime soon. 

Patrick seems to share his disdain for the storm. “Is it alright if you two wait here?” he asks suddenly, referring to Tyler and Josh. “I need to talk to Pete for a second.”

No, it’s not alright, is Pete’s first thought, couldn’t he have been consulted about this first? But he can’t exactly protest because Patrick’s latching onto his wrist, and what is with that boy and towing Pete around everywhere, and tugging him through a doorway littered with cobwebs. 

They’re in a tiny storage room, no more than a closet really, the same one where Patrick gave him a band aid the second day at the pool. With rain streaking against the window, a shitty bulb hanging overhead provides the only light. 

Patrick shuts the door behind them- making it even darker. He spins suddenly to face Pete, blue eyes wide, but they’re not really blue, they have this goldish ring and flecks of green and wait what was he thinking about again?

“Pete,” he says, sounding almost tired. “What’s wrong?”

He snaps out of his reverie to find those bluish-greenish-whatever eyes staring at him almost pleadingly, and Patrick’s arms are crossed tight across his chest.  
Well, there’s no avoiding him now. 

Pete’s never been a very good liar, and he likes Patrick far too much to lie to him anyways. He’s shifting awkwardly on his bare feet- he’d accidentally left his shoes by the deck chair- and trying to figure out the best way to articulate his thoughts, because he can’t exactly say “I’m in love with you but you totally left me to fuck another girl, and I might be overreacting but I’m kind of upset.”

Luckily, Patrick speaks again before he has a chance to. “You left the party early and I didn’t really mind, I figured you were just nervous, but why didn’t you answer my texts? Is everything okay?”

Pete sighs and picks at the hem of his sopping t-shirt. He figures it would be a lot easier to tell the truth. He reminds himself to sound patient- he was the one to jump to conclusions, anyways- and not too accusatory. 

“I guess I was just kind of mad at you,” he says almost shamefully, twisting his fingers in and out of the drenched fabric. “Like, you kind of left me at the party, and I figured nothing was wrong, but I just got upset?”

Pete decides not to mention what Gabe said about him running off with some girl. He suddenly feels small, and childish, and regrets holding a stupid grudge against something with no proof. 

He forces himself to look at Patrick, reading his expression, but it’s empty. “Oh,” the older boy’s voice is just as blank, and Pete kind of wants to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. 

“I’m really sorry about that, Pete,” Patrick says finally. His heart swells like a balloon. “When I was going back from the bathroom, I ran into a girl I hadn’t seen since school let out. She just wanted to hang out, but it took longer than I thought.”

Okay, so there’s no proof that they were fucking, though what does it matter if they were, Patrick can do whatever and Pete shouldn’t care. 

He sighs, soaked clothes sticking to his body and making him shiver. Patrick’s arms are crossed tight and he’s shaking a little and his eyes are wide and he says, “Look, Pete, I-“

He’s interrupted by what’s probably the loudest clap of thunder Pete’s heard in his life. A gasp is torn from his throat just as the hanging lightbulb flickers out. 

“Shit,” mutters Patrick. 

Just like that, the two of them are enveloped in pitch darkness. Pete’s heart jumps and his chest tightens, the room is tiny already but the invisible walls seem to press closer and closer. 

“You alright?” the lifeguard says softly.

Pete nods before remembering Patrick can’t see him, and chokes out a “yeah.”

He’s so on edge he almost screams when he feels something brush against his hand, but it’s just Patrick’s fingers, catching his and squeezing tightly. Pete takes long, deep breaths and clings to his hand. 

“Tyler? Are you two alright?” Pete calls through the closed door of the storage room. 

“Yeah,” is the muffled reply. He feels kind of guilty for leaving his brother and Josh outside, but they’re under a cover and they’ll be okay, and being alone with Patrick isn’t bad at all. 

“Do you have your phone with you? A flashlight, or something?” Pete asks, attempting to hide the tremor in his voice. He grips Patrick’s hand hard enough to leave a bruise. “I left my stuff outside.”

Patrick sighs. “No, I left everything in the other room. I could go get it, if you want-“

“No, it’s fine. We can wait.”

Sitting in the dark while waiting for a storm to pass seems a lot more tolerable, so the pair carefully lower themselves into a cross-legged seated position. Pete moves close enough for their knees to brush, feeling Patrick’s breath as he clutches his soft hand. 

“I’m the only person working today,” Patrick says, voice growing frantic. “I guess I should call someone, maybe, I don’t know-“

“Relax.” Pete cuts in, but he’s not sure if he should be reassuring his friend when he’s on the verge of panicking himself. He fumbles around awkwardly for a bit, face burning, until he finds Patrick’s other hand. 

“Look, um. As I was saying,” says Patrick a little shakily. “I like you a lot, Pete. And I feel really bad about leaving you like that.”

“I like you a lot, too,” he blurts before he can think better of it. There’s something about being in absolute darkness that loosens your lips. Maybe because you can’t see the other person’s face and gauge their reaction. 

Still, he can’t help but hate himself for this; for wanting what he can’t have. Even if Patrick does like him, Pete’s ninety percent sure he meant it in a platonic way. Patrick Stump doesn’t date. And if he did, he wouldn’t choose someone like Pete. 

He tells himself he’s totally cool with just being friends, but Pete’s never been in a relationship before and at this point he’s kind of desperate. And there’s no one he’d rather be with than Patrick. 

Another boom of thunder has Pete’s heart stuttering, and he squeezes Patrick’s hand, trying to discern the boy’s features with the dim light from the window. 

“Hey, Pete?” says Patrick, sounding hesitant for what seems like the first time since they met. 

He swallows hard, dropping Patrick’s hand briefly to smooth back his hair. “Yeah?”

“Would you maybe want to- I don't know, do something with me this Thursday? Like a movie?”

This has him pausing, brushing his thumb absently over the back of Patrick’s palm. His stomach and everything inside him clenches with nerves because the hushed words are just sinking in and unless Pete heard him wrong, Patrick Stump just asked him out on a date. 

Certainly this is the next step of Getting Patrick to Fall in Love with Him. An actual, real-life date, not with a group of friends and not at the pool. He almost can't believe this is actually happening. 

So he says, “Yeah. Yeah, sounds cool.”

“Cool.” Pete can almost see his grin, the wide one where his blue eyes crinkle at the corners. 

Patrick ventures out to get his phone, possibly to prevent any uncomfortable silences. Tyler says he and Josh are okay with staying outside under the awning- Tyler’s probably more than happy to leave the two of them alone. 

According to the weather app on Patrick’s phone, the storm should pass pretty soon. There’s really no reason for he and Pete to stay huddled in the dark storage room when it’s lighter outside, but they stay put anyways, holding hands through the sound of the thunder and rain. 

When Pete swears the rain is letting up, the lightbulb flickers back to life. He blinks rapidly in the sudden brightness, blushing furiously when he realizes how close he and Patrick are sitting. 

“I think it’s, um, stopping,” Pete stammers, mostly to distract from the fact that Patrick is so close their knees are pressing together and he can see each droplet of rain on his face and they’re still holding hands. 

“Yeah.” He stands, pulling Pete up with him. Outside, the violent storm is reduced to a calm drizzle. A rainbow streaks across the sky. 

Patrick turns to him, still shivering a little. “You guys can stay here, if you want,” he offers. 

As much as he wants to spend more time with Patrick, it would probably be best if they headed home before it starts raining again. So that’s what Pete tells him, and when the boy’s smile seems to drop with disappointment, Pete takes a step forwards and he almost slips while throwing his arms tightly around Patrick’s body. 

He can almost hear Tyler cheering from behind them. Both of their shirts are sopping wet and freezing, but okay wow Patrick’s a really good hugger, his body is soft and he’s holding on to Pete tightly, and absolutely cannot wait until their date on Thursday.

-

Each summer, the community organization puts on a massive Fourth of July party at the public pool. Everyone in the neighborhood comes for food and swimming and a fireworks show. 

Pete and his family have gone for as long as he can remember. And this summer Patrick is lifeguarding there, which is an added bonus.

It’s been two weeks since the thunderstorm at the pool, since their hushed confessions in the dark. Since then, Pete went to the movies with Patrick as planned, and it went amazingly. They've been going out on sort-of dates almost every day he's not working. 

The party starts at four o’clock, though Pete offers to come early and help Patrick since he’s partially responsible for setting up. The people will start arriving in an hour or two. 

Pete’s currently edging around the perimeter of the pool, stringing red, white and blue streamers around the fence that encircles the deck. Patrick’s across the pool fishing stray leaves and such out of the water. 

Even though it’s nearly two months away, Pete can’t help but wonder what’s going to happen to them when school starts. If they make it that long, that is. 

Like, everyone at school would be sorely confused if the most and least popular guys showed up holding hands. It would make sense to simply pretend like nothing happened, though Pete’s not sure he could stand that. 

Pete has no idea what this thing between them really is. They’ve spent pretty much every available second together, not just at the pool- does that mean they’re dating? It’s certainly daunting, but Pete thinks the excitement overpowers the nerves. Like, this is Patrick Stump he’s talking about. The short, adorable literal embodiment of perfection. 

Pete’s never dated anyone in his life, and he’s fairly certain Patrick hasn’t either- he specializes in hook-ups rather than romance. It’s a little bit terrifying but if Patrick’s up for it, he’s be more than eager. 

He likes Patrick, a lot. That much is obvious. Infatuation is the word to describe what Pete had first felt, upon seeing him at the pool. But as he got to know the boy better, he stopped appreciating him simply for his looks- as cheesy as it sounds. 

Now, he wants more than just to stare at Patrick Stump and his pretty face. He wants things with him he’s never had with anyone before. 

After he finishes with the streamers, Pete and Patrick go help with setting up the fireworks. By the time that’s done, guests are starting to show up. 

Most of the festivities take place in the pool, where families can swim and eat and hang around until dark. Then everyone settles on the expanse of grass next to the parking lot to watch the fireworks show. 

And unfortunately for Pete, Patrick is going to be lifeguarding during almost the whole party. Which means at five minutes before four, he’s saying goodbye- punctuating the words with a quick hug- and stationing himself up on the tower. 

So he spends some time with his family, who he’s already told about Patrick and how they’re kind of sort of dating. On a few occasions Pete spots a band of Patrick’s friends roving around the parking lot, but skillfully avoids them. 

Patrick is given breaks every once in a while, and at around six he and Pete go together to get food. They find an empty chair on the pool deck; it’s so crowded that they have to share, not that Pete minds. 

It reminds him of when they’d clustered close together in the equipment building during the storm- Patrick and Pete sit cross-legged, facing each other with plates balanced in their laps. 

The pool is even more packed than the day of their first conversation. Pete grimaces as water splashes all over his leg, lifting up the paper plate to shield his food. Patrick laughs.  
It’s a bit too hectic to talk to Patrick like he initially planned. Pete was hoping to gather his courage and ask about their relationship, but it looks like that’s not going to happen. 

Until the two of them leave the chair to go get dessert. Rather than go back to the deck- their seat might be taken anyway- they stand by the gate, a ways away from most of the people. 

“So, um. Patrick,” says Pete as casually as he can muster. He leans back against the bars of the fence, raising a mini cupcake to his mouth. “Is this- a thing? You and me, I mean?”

Patrick freezes. His blue eyes widen just the slightest, and Pete’s heart hammers, stomach clenching as he braces himself for disappointment. 

“I thought it was,” the lifeguard says slowly. The subtlest of smiles curves across his frosting-smeared lips. “Is it not?”

Relief washes over him like icy water in the scorching heat. “Okay, good. Just making sure.” 

Suddenly he’s unable to wipe a grin off his face. He and Patrick are dating, they’re together, they’re a thing and Pete couldn’t possibly be happier. 

He kind of wants to kiss him. Is it too early for that? It would be really fun to kiss in the pool, like that one scene from Romeo and Juliet. The movie with Leonardo Dicaprio, that is, not the play. 

Until Patrick says regretfully that he has to go back to work, cutting short Pete’s musings about kissing and young Leonardo Dicaprio. (Not that the two are related. Definitely not.)

So Pete tries not to show his disappointment. He and Tyler join the crush of bodies swimming in the pool, and he makes sure to grin and wave at Patrick just often enough to drive him crazy. 

When they go dry off in preparation of the fireworks, Pete thinks it’s just like when they first met. With Patrick sitting all gorgeous and bored out of his skull up on the lifeguard tower and Pete still in disbelief that someone that perfect would notice his existence. 

When the sun goes down, that’s when the real fun begins. Everyone climbs out of the pool and gravitates towards the grass next to the parking lot, spreading out their towels to sit. 

Pete finds Patrick again just as the sun begins to sink under the horizon. The sky overhead is streaked with varying hues of gold and pink, casting muted shadows over his face. 

“That was so tiring. And I didn’t even have to do anything,” Patrick sighs, lacing his fingers tightly with Pete’s. “Like, I almost want summer to be over already, so I don’t have to do this job anymore.”

Pete rolls his eyes as the pair make their way towards the field. “At least I had my boyfriend there to keep me company,” Patrick continues, tone light and teasing. He leans his shoulder up against Pete’s. “What if someone drowned, though? You’re too distracting.”

Patrick steps down form the curb, and Pete watches the huge smile on his face like his chest isn’t imploding and every cell in his body isn’t screaming at the top of its microscopic lungs and wait, okay, did Patrick Stump just refer to Pete Wentz as his boyfriend?

He has to remind himself to keep cool and maintain a straight face. Like, maybe it was a mistake. Right? Probably. Yeah. Of course. 

Because Patrick isn’t his boyfriend, that wouldn’t make sense. They’ve only been going on sort-of dates for, like, a couple weeks. Wait, when do people usually start using the menacing title? Pete internally curses his own inexperience. 

Whatever, he thinks, they can worry about it later. Pete takes an extra towel and spreads it out on the grass, about two-thirds of the way back from the fireworks. 

Patrick’s cluster of friends are lingering at the very back, by the fence. Pete asks if he wants to go say hi but he says no, he’s fine here.

And a part of him is relieved. Because Pete is more than fine to stay right here, cross-legged on the towel, close enough that their knees and shoulders press together. His skin is still damp from the pool and a shiver crawls down his spine. 

He feels an indescribable sort of bliss, something warm and fluttery and kind of scary. Maybe this is what summer is supposed to feel like when you’re not holed up in your room all the time. Maybe this is how it feels to really, really, like someone. 

And then the first firework goes off. 

He feels Patrick jump, his shoulders jolting up for a split second as if someone had snuck behind him and startled him. Pete moves in closer, considering sliding an arm around him but not quite brave enough. 

The first one is blue, the kind that flies high and explodes in a sunburst like you always see in pictures. In unison everyone glances up, a few “ooh”s rippling through the crowd. 

The next few are red and white, respectively, shooting off in quick succession. A few smaller kids clap hands over their ears or press closer to their parents. 

“Pete?” Patrick says suddenly. He sounds careful, hesitant. 

He turns to face him. Patrick’s eyes are wide, almost imploring, hand trembling slightly as it presses against Pete’s. 

“Y-yeah?”

Pete swallows hard, pushing down his nerves because the urge to do something, you idiot is way stronger. Fireworks burst over their heads. Patrick’s just staring at him like he wants to say something but he’s too nervous, so Pete holds his breath and leans in close, close- 

Then, without a warning, Patrick leaps up off the towel. Pete’s left with a rock dropping to the pit of his stomach as he turns and hurries back towards the pool. 

His brain is struggling and failing to catch up. Pete almost kissed him, actually almost kissed him because he was just sitting there, and then Patrick up and left for some reason.  
He curls a hand around a clump of grass and tugs, uprooting it. Hot tears of embarrassment stab at the backs of his eyes. 

Pete’s not about to leave him and stay here alone while fireworks shatter the inky sky above him. He stands, gathering every scrap of audacity he can find. 

Maybe Patrick just didn’t want to kiss him. Maybe he regrets calling Pete his boyfriend. It would certainly make sense. 

He weaves through the array of people parked on their towels, muttering strings of “excuse me” and “sorry”. If Pete saw correctly, Patrick went towards the equipment building by the pool. It’s not like there’s anywhere else to go. 

And that’s exactly where he finds him. Patrick’s pressed up against the wall, around the back part that’s outside of the fence, arms curled tight around his stomach like he’s trying to disappear. 

“Patrick?” he says, gently, on the off chance that the boy is angry at him. 

He turns, slowly. Patrick’s shaking a little and his eyes are wide, but other than that he looks fine. 

“Hey,” Patrick offers with a weak smile.

Pete frowns. “What’s wrong?”

He takes a look at their surroundings; brick wall of the building to the right, and on their left, a strip of grass next to the road. A neat line of cars are parked down it. It’s far enough from the fireworks that the sounds are muted, and there’s zero chance of anyone spotting them. The only light comes from inside the fence. 

Patrick sighs, leaning one shoulder against the wall. “I’m not a big fan of fireworks. Or any loud noises. Sorry I left so randomly, I was just kind of anxious, I guess.”

“Ah.” He nods. “Yeah, it’s okay, I just wanted to see if you were alright. I can go back if you want.”

Patrick grins as if that’s the stupidest idea he’s ever heard. “You’re not going anywhere, you idiot. Come here,” he says, and Pete’s not sure if he simply means to come closer, or if he means it in a flirtatious way, as in “come here and kiss me.”

He interprets it as the first one, since Pete was still a little apprehensive and stood a good distance away in case Patrick was mad or something. 

Pete’s heart hammers furiously in his chest. He remembers when they’d first gone swimming, underneath the purple skies as the streetlight illuminated his features. He imagined kissing him with lips tasting like chlorine. He wonders what he would taste like now. Gross frosting from the red, white and blue cupcakes they’d eaten earlier?

Pete stops himself for now. He rests a single shoulder against the bricks, mimicking Patrick’s posture. 

An array of fireworks bursts off in the background. Patrick grimaces. Pete wishes there was somewhere else they could go, but it’s private and quieter than before so he figures they’re alright. 

“You don’t have to stay, you know,” Pete points out, voice dropping instinctively. “We could go home or something.”

He hides a wince at his use of we. Well, that turned out a lot more suggestive than he intended. 

Patrick shakes his head. Luckily he either doesn’t notice the slip or doesn’t care. 

“I’m fine here. You’re here,” he says.

Something about the phrase "you’re here" causes a strange stirring feeling in his stomach; it’s warm and desperate and longing and he doesn’t want it to ever go away.  
So Pete leans in just the slightest bit closer, heart about to stop beating, and Patrick’s looking down at his mouth and then back up at his eyes and okay, he needs to hurry the fuck up and get on with it. 

He’s never kissed anyone before and it’s probably not too hard to tell. He holds gently to the back of Patrick’s neck to steady himself and presses his lips the other boy’s soft, full ones. 

His first thought is "wow this is really really nice", followed by "holy shit holy shit I am kissing him I am kissing Patrick Stump" and then "wait, am I even doing this right?"

Pete’s just kind of standing there, frozen with their mouths pressed lightly together. But Patrick, who must have kissed seventeen thousand people in his seventeen years of life, definitely knows what he’s doing. He steps in closer and kisses Pete slowly, lazily, and wow why didn’t he do this sooner?

It’s a bit overwhelming, and Pete swears he’d nearly topple over if not for Patrick’s secure hand at his waist. He moves in closer, closer, kissing him as hard and insistently he dares. (Which isn’t as intense as it sounds, giving Pete’s cluelessness in these affairs, but he thought it was perfect.)

His lips part on their own volition and kissing Patrick when they’re hardly even dating might be the dumbest decision of his life, but he doesn’t regret it one bit. The electricity in his veins, the pressure of his touch has Pete cursing every moment he spent too scared to initiate anything. 

Another round of fireworks blows off, the muffled explosions doing a pretty good job of capturing his mood. Pete imagines neon sunbursts illuminating over both their heads.  
And unfortunately, that’s when Patrick pulls away. He looks a little bit shocked, lips just the slightest bit more red than usual. 

Pete shoves a hand through his damp hair, grappling for something to say. "That was amazing" seems a bit cheesy. He definitely can’t say what’s on his mind, because "oh my god I’m so in love with you would you be okay with doing that for the rest of our lives?" might not receive the best reaction. 

So he keeps quiet. And that’s how they spend the rest of the evening, huddled behind the equipment building with silence wrapped around them like a blanket. They do find another way to fill the time, and by the time the fireworks display ends Pete has a pretty good understanding of kissing and how it works. 

“You know,” says Patrick with a sly grin as the hordes of people stroll towards the parking lot. “I still have to help clean up and stuff. And afterwards, we’ll be all alone…”

Pete blinks at him, almost in disbelief. His head is still spinning like a top and his legs feel like they might collapse from under him. 

“Great,” he says, because more time alone with Patrick is the best idea anyone has ever had. 

So Patrick’s fingers tangle with his tightly, the warmth of his palm almost as intoxicating as all the kissing. They weave through the crush of migrating people, laughing under their breath at all the stares as they make their way to the pool.


End file.
